


Guilty Pleasure

by Anonymous



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Friends With Benefits, Implied Friends with Benefits Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Old Work, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23052040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: I dont know why I'm posting old stuff that was never finished instead of new stuff, but oh well lol
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Kudos: 39
Collections: Anonymous Fics





	Guilty Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> I dont know why I'm posting old stuff that was never finished instead of new stuff, but oh well lol

* * *

Virgil unzipped his backpack and began rummaging through his unfolded clothes, pulling out everything one article at a time and setting it on his bed. When he reached the bottom his hand froze, hovering. He let go of the bag and took a step back. It fell to the ground and its remaining piece of clothing fell halfway out: a red and white theater jacket. Virgil felt his breathing grow labored. _Roman's_ theater jacket. 

The rumpled cloth showcased a few letters outside of its bunched folds. He knew that the few that he could see belonged to the name Prince. His brain supplied, dumbfounded. He forgot to give it back; and now he’d have to return it— had to interact with Roman when giving it back, which panicked him even more than just the jacket being in his custody.

Virgil shook his head softly. He was being ridiculous. It was a fucking jacket, and he was acting like any sudden movement would make it attack him. He gathered his courage and held his breath, taking a step closer. He reached down and hesitated, eyeing it warily. Did Roman notice its loss? More than likely he did, it being his favored thing to wear, of course. Did he know it was with Virgil? If so, would he ask for it back, or did he consider it good as gone— prefering to never see it again than having to face Virgil after what had transpired? 

After another much rougher shake to his head, he scooped it up in his hand and held it tightly in his grasp. 

The material felt like any other jacket— though naturally much more worn from constant use. It was abnormally cold against his fingers, making it almost foreign in his hands, being so used to the warmth that usually came with it. That came with Roman. 

Virgil took a deep breath to calm himself— only for it to hiccup in his throat. The smell. Oh God, _the smell._ The smell of Roman's cologne that he always wore, that stuck to him even if he didn't re-apply it. Whatever Roman wore— even his school backpack smelled of his cologne. His jacket— his jacket smelled so strongly of it. Musky and earthy, a distinct scent that vaguely reminded him of freshly cut grass. It was so intoxicatingly good that Virgil couldn't stop himself from pressing his nose into it. He breathed it in and shivered, going lightheaded. It felt better than any hit he ever took from a blunt. But with this, he could feel himself getting addicted to.

Another sniff and he could almost feel Roman’s presence, detect the strong and sturdy way that Roman held himself; his dorky charm that left Virgil's cheeks pink; his safekeeping and gentle smile that showed that he _cared._ That he cared about someone as worthless and manipulating as Virgil; someone so undeserving.

Virgil closed his eyes and he could see Roman’s own: bright blue and green that could hold so many emotions at once, that made Virgil uncomfortable to look at because he could always feel himself slipping further. Further into the want for Roman, all of him. He wanted to be held by him, he wanted the sense of security and honest try at understanding, his careful lingering touches that were so hesitant— as if he was asking Virgil if he was alright, if Roman was allowed to touch him. He wanted those stupid after sex cuddles Roman was always hinting at (not very subtly either), and he wanted what came before those cuddles. He wanted Roman, bad. He _needed_ him. Absolutely all of him, no portion would be enough he couldn't get it all in one big helping.

Virgil blinked, misty eyed. He pulled his face away from the jacket and sat it gently down on his bed. He stared at it for a while before pulling his hoodie up and over his head, letting it fall to the ground carelessly. Its significance was miniscule compared to what he had waiting for him. 

He brought his hands to his belt and unfastened it, undoing the button of his jeans and dragging the zipper across the teeth. When it was loose enough he shimmied them down, the brush of pants against his crotch made his breath hitch— forcing him to take notice of the erection he was building up. Virgil stuttered a sigh, he was disgusting for this, but he couldn't find it in himself to care anymore. Roman was gone from his life. This was his little departure. Or was it a punishment? Forcing himself to imagine and crave all the things he could never have.

Virgil kicked his pants off and away from him, stepping closer to his bed, eyes trained on the jacket that lay there. He let his fingers hover over it again, as if this time it would burn him: punish him for the things his body wants him to do. When he picked it up again there was no (physical) pain. He slipped his arms into the sleeves that were too long for him. The jacket came past his hips and nearly past his ass. The loose fabric dwarfed him in size, reminding him just how small he was compared to Roman.

Wrapping his arms around himself, he could almost imagine it was Roman holding him. What he wouldn't give for it to be Roman's arms around him. Roman would make sure that he felt secure and protected, he might even give him a kiss goodnight. . .he blinked back the stupid tears that kept trying to come back, making his sinuses uncomfortable in the process. He had no right to cry; not when it was his own doing that brought him into this.

He forced back the pathetic tears and crawled up on his bed. Laying flat on his back, he stared up at the ceiling before his eyes fluttered shut. His hands ghosted down his body, feather light touches against the red fabric, every now and then his fingers would catch on a cool-to-the-touch button before passing by it. When his hand reached its destination he dug the heel of his palm down against his needy, throbbing cock. The pressure was only so relieving when it was still trapped in his briefs, so he lifted his hips up and yanked them down his legs in frustration, his erection springing up instantly— head pressed greedily against the jacket that laid over top of it. The polyester felt rough against the sensitive flesh, making Virgil begrudgingly shut his legs, a hiss passed his clenched teeth at the same time. 

Indecisively, he snaked his hand back down, he went to slip it underneath the hem— changing his mind last second, he stroked himself through the fabric. He couldn't tell if the buzz was from relief or discomfort, he just knew he wanted more. 

Virgil leaned over the side of his bed, it creaking with his weight, and reached into the side pocket of his bag. A noise of triumph, and he pulled a small— nearly empty— bottle of lubrication out. Virgil flopped back again, nuzzling the back of his head into his pillow. Kicking his underwear off his ankles he spread his legs, anticipating the filthy things his mind was planning. 

He uncapped the bottle, squeezing a dollop of lube on the palm of his hand before re-capping and setting it beside him. Virgil dipped his two fingers into the cold, slick substance. 

Rubbing his fingers together, he lifted his left leg up and hooked his arm around it to keep it in place. Lube warm enough to his liking, he brought his fingers down, at level with his furled hole. His middle finger prodded just outside, pressing, but not quite breaching. Virgil shut his eyes again and imagined that his soft, stubby fingers were longer, thicker, and rougher in texture. His cock ached at the thought. Virgil slipped it in, pulling it back out and pressing in again. He went on like that until he was ready for a second, pushing his forefinger in. 

The thought of how a certain someone's fingers would fill him up much better was undeniable; his prick twitched in agreement. 

In vexation, he plunged his fingers faster and harder. Yes, it would have felt _so_ much better if Roman were there. Virgil huffed and curled them, searching, poking— “Ah!” he gasped and bit his lip. 

He let his leg go, in favor of slithering his hand down and under the jacket, pumping his cock with his still-lube-covered palm. 

Virgil sat up (with a little difficulty without the use of his hands) and used his arms to push the jacket up, burying his face in the collar. He breathed in Roman's cologne and moaned wantonly. _Fuck._ It was so damn good. 

Dipping back into his fantasies, he imagined Roman. He wanted his body pressing down against him, his mouth against his own: giving steamy, passionate kisses. Virgil scissored his fingers, stretching his hole, wanting Roman's thick fingers in there, rough yet gentle. Roman would prep him thoroughly and thoughtfully, making sure he was nice and loose enough for his cock. God, his _cock._ So perfect, just the right length, and wide enough to fill him up, and stretch him some more.

Virgil worked his hands faster, abusing his prostate with the tips of his fingers and his dull nails. It just wasn't _enough._ He was nowhere near climax and the stimulation was too weak. He tried to think of what Roman might do to make him feel good— and almost snorted. Before he met Virgil the guy probably didn't even know how sex between two dudes worked. So he would most likely fumble and question what he was doing. Ask Virgil repeatedly if what he was doing felt alright. But no matter what it would feel amazing, because it would be Roman. 

With new found vigour, Virgil switched from moving his fingers skillfully, to messy and uncoordinated. He tightened his hold on his cock just a little too tight, and purposely missed his prostate every now and then. The room was loud with the sloppy sounds of self-pleasure. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and gnawed at his piercing, his soft groans getting caught in his throat.

Roman might be inclined to try and be tender and considerate, putting Virgil's gratification before his own. Or maybe he would just take Virgil and fuck him rough and hard, until he himself was satisfied. Either way Virgil would get what he wanted, Roman. Jesus fucking Christ, just how bad did he want him? 

_So bad,_ he thought with a whimper. 

His already sloppy touches grew worse, almost painful, as his balls tightened and he felt himself reaching his peak. A high pitched whine, a few fallen tears, and one more harsh rub to his prostate later and he was cuming hard, vision going white. Streaks of cum splattered and caught on the inside of Roman's jacket, staining it for sure. He didn't notice, his head left buzzing like TV static, body boneless against his duvet.

He managed a bit of self awareness through his numbed state of mind— just enough to pull back his covers and slip under (right after kicking off all his clothes off his bed, now a heap on the floor).

He tucked himself in Roman's jacket snuggly, his nose far enough away from the material that he could smell it, but not to the point where he might get a headache later on. The scent was more calming now, even though it was tainted with the musk of his self pleasure and guilt— an ugly combination that weighed in his gut uncomfortably, while still lulling him to a dreamless sleep.

The last thing Virgil thought about before his eyes slipped closed was how he wanted to bury his face in Roman's chest and not wake up for a week. Snuggle real close so there's no space between them, and just stay there, forever. With Roman's jacket wrapped so tightly around him, it wasn't too hard to imagine.

  
  



End file.
